TWENTY ONE

Amber waved goodbye to Fabian as he pulled out of the lawn like how a mother would to her child. And once his dark grey ride was out of sight, Amber did a fist pump and squealed.

Yes! Showtime!

She ran back into the house, slamming the timber door and rushed at breakneck speed to clean up the kitchen. She systematically stored the leftovers in the fridge before starting to wash up, scrubbing the pots and trays squeaky clean only to have V call out when she was done.

“Ms Banks?”

Wiping away the sweat from her forehead, she turned around and answered Fabian’s little glowing assistant, “Yes V?”

“Were you washing the dishes?”

The question came out innocently enough and Amber smiled triumphantly, looking at the sparkling clean sink. She had only spent the last hour returning the kitchen to its spotlessly clean state.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I was,” she proceeded to wipe the droplets of remaining water next to the sink,